


Spin

by TheRookieKing412



Series: Fakiru Week 2019 [5]
Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, sheep farm/ranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 07:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20756288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRookieKing412/pseuds/TheRookieKing412
Summary: Farm AU. In which Ahiru was born to take over a sheep farm, but is terrible at everything except for one thing.





	1. Wool

Ever since she was young, she knew that she was in the wrong place.

Always in the wrong place. 

At the wrong time.

Doing the wrong thing.

When her parents died, it was because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

When she was taken in by a strange man claiming he was her uncle, she was at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

When he started beating her; wrong place, wrong time. 

When he took her out of school and forced her to stay home, to clean and cook. 

The one time, however, she was at the right place, was when she was beaten so bad she had ran out to the backyard, her parent’s backyard - for when he stole her, he stole everything along with her - she ran into her mother’s garden and threw herself to the ground, but the palms of her hands hit something hard. 

She dug it out and found a skeleton key, and when she looked back at the house, she knew that there was one room that was locked only to be opened by a key like this one. 

The attic. 

She waited for him to fall asleep, and once it was deep in the night, she opened the attic door, climbed the steps and turned on a light. 

It was dirty and dusty, covered in veils of spiderwebs, but on the far wall was a desk covered in yellowed pages, and above it was a map. 

Looking at the pages, and then up at the map, her heart quickened. 

She only waited a day before she ran away. 

She made sure to lock the attic door, and tied to key to her belt, if the man who claimed to be her uncle found it, he would only be able to find her faster. 

She took one sheet of paper off the desk and made sure it was tucked safe into her run away bag, never to be seen, lost, or found. 

He was in a deep sleep, it was the middle of the night, she brought with her a spare change of clothes, a bit of food, before she ran out the back door. Finally escaping. 

She got lost quite a few times, but the road she traveled was filled with passersby and she was able to get directions from them, by asking them a simple question. 

“Is this the way to Mallard Farms?”

It took a week, but finally she was there. 

She knocked on the door, dirty, messy and tired, and she was fortunate when a kind woman opened the door and a great smile rose upon her pale cheeks.

“Ahiru! I can’t believe you’re here!” 

Yes she appeared kinder, the look in her eye wasn’t the wild untamed swirl that was contained in the iris of the man who claimed her, and her grin wasn’t as manic, but when she reached out to touch Ahiru’s cheek, Ahiru couldn’t help but flinch away.

Miss. Edel was a family friend, in charge of taking care of the farm until Ahiru came back. 

Seeing as it was her’s to inherit. 

“When your parents died I went to go get you and bring you back here, but when I got to town they said that you had died as well, and when I went to your parent’s home there was a horrible man living there.” Miss Edel confessed, and Ahiru told her that that man had pretended to be her Uncle.

Drosselmeyer.

“He must be after the farm then, but we won’t let him take it.” Miss. Edel smiled and winked. Like she was sharing a secret, like they were conspiring together, Drosselmeyer never shared his secrets. Where he had come from, why he had taken her, how he was able to claim to be her uncle while looking nothing like her or the faded images she had of her mother and father. 

Ahiru decided to share a secret too.

“I have the deed.” Ahiru said, pulling the page from her bag and giving it to Miss. Edel. “It was locked in the attic this whole time.” Her heart pounded as she handed the piece of paper over. Would Miss. Edel keep it for herself? 

Miss. Edel smiled and promised to keep it safe. 

She showed Ahiru a room to sleep in, a place to wash up in, and the rest of the house. 

“Tomorrow you’ll meet the farm hands, but for tonight, rest.” Miss. Edel had her hand on Ahiru’s shoulder, and she felt comforted, a soft hand on her shoulder, rather than a gruff grasp. 

She was finally safe. 

The next morning she was woken up before dawn by the crowing of a rooster, and then a knock at her door. 

Every morning started this way, and as Ahiru trudged to the bathroom, she couldn’t believe that Miss. Edel was already up, well presented, and had a smile on her face. 

“It’s too early.” Ahiru yawned. 

“Not on a farm.”

There was a woman in the kitchen cooking breakfast, introduced to Ahiru as Ebine. 

Ebine threw her arms around Ahiru and told her how sorry she was about her parents. 

Ebine had lost her husband a few years ago, too. 

Ebine was the cook, and she would cook them all their meals, and keep the kitchen clean. 

“Are you ready, Ahiru?” 

“For what?” Ahiru asked, her oatmeal falling off her spoon. 

“To meet everyone of course.” 

Ahiru smiled. “Yes!” 

The function of Mallard Farms was actually sheep herding, the entire flock was made of five hundred sheep (marked by the five black sheep) and the selling of their wool. There were two shepherds, mounted on horses, charged with watching the sheep, and making sure they didn’t wander off or get lost. 

Miss. Edel had added a chicken coop with a few chickens to provide the family with eggs, a few cows for milk, and the three horses. 

“I’ll have to buy you a horse as well now that you are here, have you ever ridden before?”

“Uh- no, I haven’t.” Ahiru shook her head. 

“We’ll remedy that.”

Miss. Edel stepped outside and whistled, almost immediately, Ahiru saw two horses striding over, one white and pristine, the other black. 

Suddenly, she was nervous but she didn’t know what for. She had seen horses before, going up and down the road as she ran away. She had met people before, the policemen that found her, Miss. Edel and Miss. Ebine…

So why was her stomach in knots?

They were good friends, she could tell, the man on the white horse was saying something, laughing and teasing his friend, he threw his leg over the back of the horse and stepped down, but his friend never dismounted.

Any trace of a smile disappeared once he saw her, when his eyes landed on her, he started to scowl and the knots in her stomach tightened. He was frightening.

She was trembling.

“Ahiru! You must be Ahiru!” The man that had dismounted took her hand and bowed. “My name is Mytho, I’ve been working for your family since I was 16.” His hold on her hand was soft, but she didn’t let herself trust him completely yet.

Drosselmeyer’s hands were soft, once, when he first took her in…

Brushing her hair, setting it in a braid… 

Asking her about her family, her parents, not that she knew anything at four years old…

It wasn’t until she was older when his soft hands turned to paddles.

Ahiru smiled and thanked him but she couldn’t keep her gaze off the other man. 

“This is my friend Fakir. Fakir why don't you come down and greet her?” 

Fakir didn’t dismount. He said, “No thank you.” With a sharp turn of his reins and a kick to his horse’s side, he galloped off.

The knots didn’t loosen.

“Oh my. Please forgive my friend, he’s a bit rough around the edges, but he is good at heart.”

Ahiru couldn’t take her eyes away until his black horse disappeared over the hills.

Miss. Edel and Mytho took her around the property and showed her everything, and tried to see if she was good at any of it.

She was good with the chickens, but almost burst into tears when she tried to take their eggs. 

The cows didn’t like an unfamiliar face and even Ahiru didn’t want to get too close.

Miss. Edel took Ahiru into the garden to see if she had a knack for gardening, and confusing weeds with carrots, she plucked them from the earth before they were ready.

At the very end of it, she was in tears, blubbering her apologizes. She expected a hand to be raised against her, the way Drosselmeyer raised his hand when a soapy plate slipped from her fingers and to the wooden floors. Two smacks. 

For the plate, and the scuff marks on the floor.

Mytho was quick to raise his hand, but with his thumb he wiped at her cheeks, and Miss. Edel was quick to give her a gentle smile, and a handkerchief to blow her nose.

“You’re- you’re not mad?” Ahiru asked, almost scared to hear the answer, maybe they were fine with her crying, but her speaking is what would send them over the edge. 

“Of course not.” Mytho told her. “I’m just as good as you are with the cows, and I’ve never been able to tell about apples and oranges.”

Ahiru couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “They’re very different.”

“Are they?” He teases. 

“You don’t have to be good at everything.” Edel says, before tapping a finger to her chin. “But you know what? There is one thing your mother was good at.”

Miss. Edel lead her to a large barn, not the largest barn, because that’s where the animals were kept, but a second barn, and inside was all the wool gathered from the sheep. 

“Your mother was an excellent spinner, I wonder if you would be too.”

Miss. Edel and Ahiru went through the entire process. Cleaning the wool, brushing it out, and spinning it.

Ahiru has tiny hands, she always thought she had, but apparently that was a necessity to spinning wool. 

Soon all her days were consumed with spinning, and she enjoyed it.

And while the barn had been cleared of the wool, and the sheep’s winter coats were coming in, Mytho would come in to visit, tossing a ball of yarn and revealing at how soft it was. 

Rue, a woman from town whose family had been buying yarn from Mallard Farms since before either of them were born. She came a few days after Ahiru had settled and Rue told Ahiru how the yarn she spun was dyed, and sold in her store for knitting or made into something for sale: sweaters, throws, mittens, scarfs, hats, socks! Rue came in to see how Ahiru was doing, while their first meeting had been rocky, Rue found that she liked this girl and would come to visit her often. 

Miss. Edel would come in and offer her breaks, beaming and impressed at the fine work Ahiru produced. 

There was, however one day where she found herself at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

She was where she was supposed to be, spinning yarn at the spindle when Fakir walked in.

The door opened with a creek and shut with a bang. He took off his hat and let it flutter to the ground, he stalked towards her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes slowly roaming over her. Her hands.

But her hands, like the rest of her, were scared stiff. 

“You never should have come here.” He says and it’s the first time she had heard him speak to her. It sent a shiver down her spine.

“What was I supposed to do?” She glared down at the unspun wool she held in her hands. “Stay there? Get beaten?” Perhaps she should keep her mouth shut, she had it too good here, Miss. Edel and Mytho making sure that she was happy, that any mistake she made - any plate she dropped - was a matter fixed and forgiven in seconds. She was getting too brave. 

Fakir didn’t have eyes like Drosselmeyer, but his eyes were steely, icy, guarded, pained. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who forgave the mistakes of little girls.

He flinched, but he didn’t back down. “You never should have come back, it’s only bad news.” 

“Look, just because I’m in charge now-“

Then he came down on her like a hawk, he was in front of her, leaning over the spindle and peering down at her. “You’re not in charge, yet. Not until you’re 18.”

She’s caught, like a deer in headlights and she can feel her heart, it pounds against her chest, begging to be free, it urges her to get up and run. 

Run like she ran away from Drosselmeyer. 

“That’s only three months away.” She says, and she’s not sure why, maybe she wants the sting of being slapped, the blood that trickled over her tongue. Maybe she missed the taste.

He scoffs and pulls away from her. “I’m warning you. Get out while you can.” 

Ahiru pouted, her eyebrows furrowed, and the wool in her hands grew uncomfortably hot. “Why should I? I don’t have to do anything but stay here.”  _ Run, get up and run. _ But she doesn’t, she stays put. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” 

Her eyes darted up to his, but his expression remained dark. 

“He’ll come here. For you. Don’t think he won’t.”

Ahiru felt her stomach drop to the floor. “Oh yeah? What do you know?” 

He had already started to walk away, but he stopped, looking over his shoulder, he said. “Enough. This is the place I’ve lived all my life, all I want to do is protect it. I won’t let you ruin that.”

“I’m not going to!” She stood. “I’m not going to change anything! I’m not going to ruin anything!” She could feel tears slipping past her eyes. “I was just tired of getting beaten!” 

She didn’t have bruises any longer, but she could still feel them. 

There was one bruise on her upper arm that never healed.

Drosselmeyer would grab her there so roughy and so often that she thought she would have permanent marks on her arm. 

She still had the scar on her forehead from when he hit her with a broken bottle. 

She was sure that her entire body had known pain, had been bruised at some point, every inch. 

She was tired, that was all.

“I was just…” she sat back down, and her tears of anger turned to tears of awful nostalgia. “I was just tired.” 

He didn’t say anything else, and perhaps she should have been thankful, but now the gentle sounds of her sobbing filled the barn. 

He stooped down the pick up his hat, closing the door silently behind him. 

“Ahiru!” Mytho called for her the next morning. “Look! We finally got you a horse!”

Ahiru was pulled outside and looked at the horse, brown in color, with a black mane.

“She’s a good horse, and she came at a good bargain.” Mytho patted the horses shoulder and together they got her ready to ride. Mytho showing Ahiru how properly to place a saddle, “Tighter than you think you need to, they like to puff up their stomachs so when they let go, the saddle is loose and I would prefer it if you didn’t fall off.” 

Her first lesson went well, she was scared to get off, but someone was there to help her.

Fakir has been watching from the flanks, making sure that they were both safe, but when Ahiru decided to get off Mytho was too far away, and Fakir came by her side, holding the reins of her horse, and catching her when her toe got caught in the stirrup. 

She windmilled her arms and thought she would land in soft mud, but Fakir was quicker, coming behind her. 

He was warm, that was her first thought, and when she looked up at him, for once he wasn’t wearing a scowl. 

She tore away from him and stole back the reins. 

She was sure he would scold her, scold her for having her foot deeper in the stirrup than it should have been, scolded and yelled at her for not adjusting herself, scolded and yelled at and beaten her for forcing him to do the extra work that was catching her before she smashed her head in. You should be thankful! He would yell, because that’s what Drosselmeyer would yell, and she’s ready, she’s ready for it. 

But…

He doesn’t.

Instead he blushes and pushes her away and tells her to be careful, that next time there might not be someone there. 

Then, one day, she was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, again.

She took a break from spinning and had planned to go find Mytho in the field on her horse, but when she got out to where she thought they would be, she only saw Fakir fighting off a wolf. 

Her eyes widened and she called out his name, but that was a mistake, because he looked back at her, and it gave the wolf an opening.

Ahiru kicked her horse and they went flying, and it was enough to scare the wolf away. 

Ahiru flung herself off her horse, falling to the ground when her foot got stuck, but rising to get to Fakir.

“Fakir! Are you okay?” 

“No, idiot, I got scratched.” Fakir put his hand on his shoulder and pulled it back to reveal blood. 

Ahiru gasped into her hands. “Was that my fault?” 

Of course it was her fault, she shouted his name and drew his attention and now she would get a beating, now she would get hit with a thatch, whipped across her back, her arms, her legs until she was raw and bleeding. He was bleeding, and she would get scars just as deep.

“No.” He said, unable to look in her eye. “It’s my fault. I let the sheep go too far.”

It confuses her, that he takes the blame, when it so obviously should have been on her shoulders. 

She shrinks in on herself, and can barely stop the tears that threaten to fall onto her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” She says. “Let’s go back, I’ll take care of it for you.”

He knits his eyebrows together, but it isn’t one of his looks of anger, no. 

It’s one of confusion, of deep thought, as if he was trying to understand her. 

There was a galloping horse and Mytho was beside them. “Fakir!”

“I’m fine.” Fakir said, cutting Ahiru off before she could tell Mytho that Fakir got hurt.

“I’m going to take him back to the house.” Ahiru said, standing up and taking Fakir with her. “The wolf got his shoulder.”

Mytho was worried, but understood that someone had to watch the sheep and Ahiru lead Fakir back to the house. 

No one was home, both Miss. Edel and Miss. Ebine had gone to town on a shopping trip. Ahiru lead him up stairs and sat him on her bed.

“Wait there, I need to get my first aid kit.” 

She went into her bathroom and found it under her sink, and went back, blushing furiously when she saw Fakir had removed his shirt.

“Ah! Why-why-why did you-!”

“You need to clean my back, don’t you?” He averted his eyes, but she could see that he was sporting a similar blush to hers.

Ahiru nodded mutely. She sat behind him in the bed and started by applying pressure and wiping away the blood that had trickled down his back. 

“Thank you.” She said.

“For what?”

“Protecting the sheep.”

He was silent for a moment, as Ahiru dropped the soiled towels to the floor and started putting alcohol on a clean towel and running it over his wound. 

“It’s my job.” He said simply.

“But you still did it. And you got hurt. So.” He motions stopped, her hands inappropriately resting on parts of his undamaged back. “Thank you.”

She shook her head and finished her job. Wrapping it tightly, and hoping it would be enough.

“You’re welcome.” He said softly, and she smiled.

Fakir was different after that day, he was kinder, more teasing towards her, and she didn’t miss the way he would smile at her when he thought no one was watching.

But there were moments where he caught himself, his expression would soften, but then his eyes would sharpen, and he would turn away. 

She would call him a friend, and she knew that he thought the same, whether or not he would admit it out loud however was a different story.

“Hey, have you eaten yet?” He asked, opening the door to the barn and peering inside. 

She shook her head. “This ball is almost done, and then Miss. Edel said that lunch was ready.”

Fakir looked outside, where the sun had set hours ago, he left her and came back a few minutes later with a basket filled with dinner.

It became something of a habit, and days when he didn’t come, she would stop her spinning, put lunch together and go out into the fields to find him. 

During winter, Ahiru had been given a pale yellow sweater from Rue and Miss. Edel, apparently it was made with her first batch of spun yarn, she smiled, the sweater was soft and perfect and she wore it everyday until it got too hot, but winter wasn’t over, not yet. 

There was a day that Fakir came into the barn, he was out of breath and he rushed over to her. 

“You have to get out of here.” He told her, kneeling beside her.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s coming. He’s coming here. You’re not safe, the farm isn’t safe. You have to go.” 

Ahiru stopped her spinning, she turned in her chair to face him and with a look of determination she said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re still seventeen, he still has legal guardianship over you, he’ll take you back.” 

There was a wild fear in his eye that Ahiru had never seen before and she knew he was serious, that he was beyond worry, past caution, and teetering over the edge of…

“I’m not going.” Ahiru shook her head, she meet his gaze, and she hoped she could calm him, she raised her hand, placing it on his cheek. “I’ll be 18 in a week, and if he tried to take me, I’ll just run away again.” 

His eyes closed at her touch, and it almost seemed to calm him before he pulled away. “He doesn’t want you, Ahiru, he wants this farm. You’re the only thing standing in his way, once he gets you-” 

“He won’t, then, will he?” Ahiru smiled. “You’re protecting me.”

“Ahiru-” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, as if he couldn’t look at her. “I have to tell you something…”

“You can tell me anything, Fakir.” 

He sighed. “Drosselmeyer isn’t your uncle-”

“I know.”

“But he is my grandfather.”

“What?” Ahiru stood, her stool falling behind her. 

Fakir rose to his feet, reaching out for her. “He told me, when I was 17 that I should get a job here, no one knew that I was related to him-”

“No.” Ahiru heard the shattering of glass, and something trickled down her forehead, but when she touched her head, there was nothing there… Just her scar. She clutched her stomach. Fakir grabbed her arm to get her attention, but she felt the iron grip of a man she hadn’t seen in months. 

There was a knock at the barn door, and before either of them could object it was opened. 

A police man came in and behind him-

“Drosselmeyer.” 

Fakir stood in front of her, not letting her be seen. 

“Stand down, son.” The policeman said. “We’ve just come to get her.”

“I won’t let you.” 

“Son, I’m going to have to ask you to step aside-”

“No!” 

“Fakir.” Ahiru grabbed his hand, forcing him to back down. Looking past him, she saw the officer, and next to him Drosselmeyer, his grin too large for his face, and he knew he had won. “Un- Drosselmeyer.”

“Come, Ahiru.” Drosselmeyer held out his hand. “It’s time to come home.” 

Ahiru took a few steps forward, but Fakir grabbed for her hand. She squeezed his hand once and let go, walking forward and accepting the hand of Herr. Drosselmeyer. 

“Good job.” Drosselmeyer told Fakir.

“What do you mean?” Ahiru asked, looking back at Fakir. He looked ashamed of something. 

Drosselmeyer laughed. “You didn’t know? He told me that you were here.”

Ahiru’s eyes widened and she looked back at him. “Fakir?”

“I did. The first day you came. I sent a letter.” Fakir ran towards her, ripping her away from Drosselmeyer’s gripping, and he clung to her desperately. “But I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t know why he wanted me to do it. He just told me that if you ever came, I was to tell him.”

“How- how come you didn’t come as soon as you heard?” Ahiru turned back to Drosselmeyer. 

“Huh? Oh yes, well you see when you left, I went after you, but I didn’t think you knew where Mallard Farms was, so I went south instead, then east, then north and then when I came back home I found my grandson’s letter, waiting for me. And perfect timing too!” He laughed. “To think, you found your way home after all this time.”

“I didn’t know why he wanted me to do it, but I just did.” Fakir told her, shaking his head. “I didn’t put the pieces together.” 

Ahiru smiled at him. “I know. I’ll see you soon… won’t I?”

Drosselmeyer sneered, but it was something missed by the two. 

Fakir nodded. “You will. I won’t let him hurt you.”

Drosselmeyer came up to them and stole Ahiru away. 

A week had passed since she had gone home, and it had been the worst week of her life. 

Behind shut doors, he slapped her hard across the face, and when she fell to her knees, he kicked her.

“How did you find out about Mallard Farms?”

The attic. 

But the key was back at Mallard Farms now, and Drosselmeyer wasn’t able to open it, but he got so angry at her and at the damn door that he took it down with an axe. 

He found the map, the papers, but not the deed. 

“I know! I know what I’ll have you do.” He laughed and rubbed his hands together. “Write a will, and give me the Ranch, give me ownership.” 

Why? She thought, he was close to death anyway. 

When she refused, he grabbed her arm and yelled in her face. 

She was left a weeping pile on the floor. 

But…

She never agreed to write the will.

He locked her in a room, maybe it had once belonged to her, but now it was void of anything, just a blank room, with blank floors and blank walls, all she had was a window that had been boarded up. 

He knocked at the door and opened it, offering her food so long as she signed the will he had his lawyer draft up. 

“Just your signature.” He promised. “And I’ll feed you.”

She raised her head at him, before she fell back to the floor. She was growing tired, and thought, wouldn’t it be nice if it was Fakir at the door? Coming with their picnic basket with their lunch, reprimanding her for working too much. 

She didn’t know how long it had been, she was sure it couldn’t have been but a few days, but there was a soft knock at the door and Drosselmeyer entered. 

“Tomorrow,” He began. “You’ll be 18. Then the farm will come into your possession. But, you give it to me, and I’ll let you go.” 

“Tomorrow I won’t belong to you anymore.” She said. 

He snarled down at her, raised his hand as if to hit her but stopped himself. “No, no I won’t hurt you. I just need your signature.” 

He left the room, the door open, and Ahiru thought that if she could just stand, she could get away. 

He came back too quickly, holding the paper; a pen and inkwell. He forced the pen in her hand and clasped his own hand around her’s.

Together they dipped the quill nib into the inkwell.

Together they signed the will in her name. 

“There.” Drosselemeyer said, tossing her hand to the floor. He dropped a plate of food in front of her, a glass of water. 

The door left unlocked, and open.

She sipped at the water, let it sit in her mouth and bring her tongue to life. She picked at the bread, bringing crumbs to her mouth and pulled apart the orange, only eating bits of plup at a time. 

Not too fast, unless she wanted to throw up. 

She took her time, but finished her plate, and she fell asleep.

Outside, she could hear the gallop of horses. 


	2. Will

“Wait, where are they taking her?” 

Fakir turned and caught Edel before she ran off and tried to steal Ahiru back.

She struggled against him and he knew he’d get a scolding later, but he himself was frozen.

Unable to do anything but watch her walk away.

“Fakir, let me go!”

“No.” He said coolly, but there was a maelstrom tearing apart his insides, and hot anger boiling his organs. “She’s still seventeen. If you try to take her, you’ll be arrested for kidnapping.”

“We can’t wait that long!”

But he held firm, not letting his grip fall from her shoulders until he was sure Edel had no chance of taking Ahiru back. 

Everyday he was assaulted by someone, even Rue, who didn’t care to talk to him on any other day.

He couldn’t go after her, and he couldn’t let anyone else go after her, he knew what his grandfather was capable of and he wouldn’t let anyone else suffer. 

He couldn’t sleep at night, however, he thought he could hear the sounds of flesh hitting flesh, or the crack of a whip, he thought he could hear her screams, her crying, when he closed his eyes all he could see was her form curled up on the floor, blood pooling around her. 

But there was nothing he could do. 

“Is there really nothing you can do?” Mytho asked, he had been worried about Ahiru, but no one knew the gravity of the situation quite like Fakir did. 

But today was the day before Ahiru turned eighteen, and he wouldn’t suffer to wait any longer. 

Food, he thought, she would need food, and maybe clothes, the sweater Rue gave her, he went into her room and stole her first aid kit. 

Mytho trailed behind him like a pampered dog expecting treats and would bump into Fakir anytime he stopped.

“I’m leaving.”   
“For her? Tonight? Let me come.”

Fakir couldn’t tell him no, and couldn’t come up with a good argument for why Mytho shouldn’t come.

“I’ll get the horses ready.”

Fakir was left alone in her room and by God was it a mess, half her closet was on the floor, all the doors open, and the drawers of her nightstand were half shut. It made him smile, however bitter that smile was. 

He packed everything into the saddle bag and before the sun went down, he and Mytho were off.

Fakir made eye contact with Edel as they left, she wasn’t angry, she wasn’t sad, or happy, but her face was covered in solid determination. 

He could do this. They would get Ahiru back. 

The ride was long, and it was cold in the dark of night, but soon they were at the house that trapped Ahiru like a butterfly in a glass frame. 

It was dark and quiet, but Fakir barged in. “Drosselmeyer!” He shouted, cupping his hands and hoping that if the old man was resting, he was awake now. 

“Come in, my boy, come in.”

Fakir felt his heart quicken, it wasn’t often that he stood up against Drosselmeyer. 

The two men stepped into a parlor where Drosselmeyer sat at a rocking chair, holding a paper in his hand. 

“Do you know what this is?” He held the paper aloft, and Fakir could see that the ink was still dripping wet. 

Fakir didn’t answer, not giving the old man the benefit of conversation. 

Drosselmeyer chuckled. “It’s a will. Her will. It states here that Mallard Farm will come into my possession upon her death, signed by her own hand.”

Fakir grit his teeth but didn’t respond.

“It’s a shame that she’ll never be eighteen. That’s when the farm would fall fully into her possession, now however, it will be mine.”

Fakir could feel his nails biting into his skin, any harder and he was sure he would draw blood. 

“Where is she?”

“Ah so you can speak!” Drosselmeyer laughed. “She’s upstairs in the first room on the left.”

Fakir didn’t move, and he knew Mytho was waiting for his command.

“If she’s still alive, that is.”

Fakir took a sharp breath before lurching across the room, he grabbed Drosselmeyer by his collar and pulled him from his chair. 

He only laughed.

Laughing, laughing, laughing.

Until Fakir raised his fist and hit his father’s father across the jaw and watched him slump to the floor.

Fakir picked up the will. “Ahiru” was signed in a sloppy handwriting that wasn’t hers.

“Burn this.” He said simply.

Fakir left Mytho to his task as he raced up the stairs to the first door on the right, and of course the bastard locked the door. 

“Damnit.” Fakir slapped his hand against the panel. 

“Fakir?”

Fakir stiffened, it was her.

Her voice weak, and across the hall.

Fakir turned on his heel to the open door and saw her there, lying on the floor, an empty plate in front of her. 

“Ahiru!” He ran to her, kneeling beside her and pulling her into his grasp. “Ahiru, this is all my fault.” 

“I- I was at the wrong place-”

“No.” Fakir brushed the bangs from her eyes, and he saw the scar that they covered. How many more did she have now? “I never should have trusted him.”

She was sitting in his lap, curled against his chest, her head leaning against his shoulder when Mytho came in. 

“I burnt it, but Drosselmeyer is coming to.”

Fakir stood, still holding her close to his chest. “We’ll go then.”

Mytho nodded, his hand reaching to grasp Ahiru’s, she smiled at him and held his hand. 

“You came for me.” She said. “You both came for me.”

Mytho did the talking, of course they weren’t going to leave her, of course they were coming to save her, to rescue her, why would she ever doubt them? 

She smiled at Mytho, but it was into Fakir’s neck that she pressed her face. It was his shirt that she clung to. 

Fakir hoisted her onto his horse, sitting behind her and whisking her away from the house, he kept his arm around her middle, thinking she was tired, and too weak to hold herself up. 

He whispered reassurances into her ear, they’d be home soon, she’d be safe again, she wouldn’t have to fear what Drosselmeyer could do to her now, he would protect her. 

He didn’t know if she slept, or if she heard every word, but when the dawn came, just before the sun started rising above the hills and trees he told her that he loved her, that he would never leave her side again. 

When they got home, Edel, Ebine, and even Rue had waited for Ahiru to come back and they stole her away from him immediately, she looked back over her shoulder, blinking at him as if to ask why he wasn’t coming. 

It was only fair, he and Mytho had her to themselves all night, letting her other friends hold her and cry with her was only fair. 

He didn’t eat, he didn’t rest, he only stood on the porch and waited for her to come back out. 

“Fakir?” But it wasn’t her. It was Ebine. “She wants to see you.” 

Fakir nodded, walking inside and going up to her room. It had been tidied by Edel and Ebine, and Ahiru sat on a made bed.

He kneeled before her and grabbed her hands, previously folded in her lap. 

She held onto him like he was a lifeline, and perhaps he was. 

“You came for me.” She repeated, and when her eyes meet his, they were wet with unshed tears, and she smiled so brightly he thought he was going blind. 

He lifted a hand and dove it into her hair, cradling the back of her head and he relished the heaviness as she leaned into his touch. “How could I not?”

“Fakir...” She said, her eyes wandering away from his. “I love you, too.”

He chuckled. “So, you did hear that then?”

She grinned and nodded. “I heard everything you said.”

His other hand cupped her cheek, and her fingers wrapped around his wrist and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to her lips. 

She started laughing into his mouth, but she did her best to kiss him back.

Her hands moved up and down his arms, and he turned his head to deepen the kiss. 

There was a knock at the door, but he didn’t pull back soon enough and Edel chuckled. 

“Damn.” Rue cursed before fishing into her skirt pocket and pulling out a crumpled five dollar bill and dumping it in Mytho’s hand.

“I would say it’s time to start your birthday festivities, but it looks like you already have.” Edel smiled into her hand, and Fakir couldn’t stop from blushing. 

“We’re going to celebrate my birthday?” 

Her 18th birthday is the first she had gotten to celebrate since her parents had died, Ebine had made an extravagant breakfast, later a large lunch, and finally at dinner a dignified feast fit for a Queen.

Each had gotten her presents and she nearly cried at every one she opened, surprised they had gotten her anything at all. 

They all sat at the dining table, eating a chocolate cake that Ebine spent most of the day perfecting and soon the day was over.

Ahiru pulled Fakir back into her room after she was sure no one was watching and collapsed to her bed, smiling. 

“That was too much! All the food and the presents and the cake, and we only did what I wanted to do all day!” She was breathless. “Was that right? Is that what birthdays are supposed to be like?”

Fakir nodded. “That’s what they’re always like here, even mine.” 

She giggled. “No, no! That’s impossible!”

“It is, and next year it will be the same.” 

She touched a hand to her cheek and flopped down on the bed. “Really?”

“Yes, I promise.”

He walked towards her, offering her his hand and when she took it he peeled her off the bed. 

He peered down at her sadly, he wanted her to tell him everything, everything that Drosselmeyer had done since she was taken a week ago, every crime he had committed against her since he took her in.

But, he didn’t, instead her ran his knuckles over her cheek. 

There was another knock at the door. 

Mytho was leaving with Rue, and Edel and Ebine had decided to take a stroll around the property.

“Thank you!” Ahiru shouts through the door. 

Now, they were well and truly alone. 

He kissed her again, not able to stop himself, relieved when she rose to her tiptoes.

“I love you.” He said, in case she had forgotten, she didn’t respond, only kissing him harder, her lips moving against his in ways he didn’t think she knew how to. 

She curled her hand into his hair, intending to not let him go. 

But he does, he grabs her wrists, forcing her to disengage.

She looked up at him, confused, and he’s worried he hurt her. 

“We’re going too fast.” He reasons. I should make you my wife first, he wants to say. 

She’s oddly silent, she reaches forward and loops her finger into his belt loop, bringing him back. She lays her head on his chest, listening for a heart beat. 

She pulls back and starts pulling her shirt over her head. 

“Uh-” He starts, turning his face away, a furious blush coating his cheeks. 

“Look.” She says, and when he does, he sees that she’s presented to him her back. 

Covered in pale white scars that criss cross over each other, some leaking onto the backs of her arms, onto her shoulders. He runs his hand down her spine. 

“Drosselmeyer.” He says and she only nods. 

“I can tell you what I got each one for.” She whispers. 

But he doesn’t want her to do that, he doesn’t want her to tell him what his grandfather did to her, he doesn’t want to hear the looney, childish reasons Drosselmeyer found for hurting her so badly, so horrifically. 

He thought, then, that it was only fair to show her his scars. 

Pulling his shirt over his head, he threw it to the side and tapped her shoulder for her to see. 

A long scar, starting at his shoulder, branching off into three separate scars, one down to his naval, one to his right breast, and the other on his arm. 

She gasps lightly and her hands move to touch it instantly. 

He didn’t know how he got them, only that, as a baby he was clean, then, when his parents were murdered, he suddenly wasn’t. 

It didn’t matter, for a long time it didn’t matter who had done it, the murderer, some kooky nurse or orphanage worker, but he was still alive and his parents weren’t. 

His grandfather only claiming him when he was of use.

He tells her that much, that he’s always had them, that no one has ever confessed to making the cuts. 

He remembers once, as a child, it was summer and hot and he was at a pond with Mytho, they had removed their shirts to swim, but the other children that were there gasped in mock horror, saying he should keep such things covered. No one wanted to see such ugly scars. 

Ahiru surprises him, she leans forward placing a kiss where the one scar becomes three, right over his heart, and she tries to kiss every inch of it, but he catches her chin and lifts it.

He recaptures her lips, wrapping his arm around her back, splaying his hand over what should have been smooth skin. 

It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone he can share this with, someone who doesn’t look at the scar with disgust or hatred. Someone who understands.

She deepens their kiss, turning her head and attempting to run her tongue over his bottom lip, it makes him gasp because he didn’t expect it from her, but now with his lips parted she makes her way into his mouth.

It’s the last thing he expects her to do, but when has she ever done anything he expected of her?

She forgave him, and he never expected that either. 

He smiles then, because if she’s going to get frisky, so’s he. 

He closes his lips around her tongue and sucks, and when her tongue retreats he takes her bottom lip between his teeth and the sound that comes from her throat is enough to convince him to keep going. 

His hand on the small of her back, her presses her body flush against his, and he can tell that she’s enjoying it as much as he is.

Fakir forgets how short she is, the top of her head only brushing against his shoulders and he’s starting to get a crick in the neck, so he thinks of a simple solution. 

He runs his hands down her back until he has her thighs securely in his hands, then he picks her up without breaking from their kiss, and she all too willingly wraps her legs around his waist, her arms locking around his neck. 

She pulls away for a second to tilt her head in the other direction before planting her lips on his jaw, trailing down his neck before she chooses one spot and sucks the skin that’s there. 

“I’m the one that’s supposed to mark you up.” His voice huskier than he last checked, he hitches her legs up, jolting her from her vantage point, and he leans in to claim her throat with his lips, his tongue, his teeth. A kiss, a sharp bite, and then a soothing lick. 

She twitches in his grasp, her chest is already heaving, but as he marks the pale skin of her neck she makes little mewling sounds. 

Ahiru starts grasping at his shoulder, her nails start to claw at his shoulder and it’s so needy, she’s needy, but so is he. 

She figures out that she can still kiss his neck and takes the opportunity, the little noises she makes still escaping her lips and vibrating against his skin.

He’s already hard and it’s not fair, not really, he thinks he should have more self control, but how can he when he has Ahiru’s little body wrapped around him, her own hardened nipples dragging across his chest every time she breathes.

Considering that, he has pretty good self control. 

“Fakir.” She moans his name.

“Goddamnit.” He curses into her neck, and he can’t take it any longer, her bed is only a short distance away and he throws her onto it, making her yelp. She giggles up at him as he crawls over her and she recaptures his lips with the gentle pull of her hand on the back of his neck. 

He clamps a hand on her hip, kneading the skin there, she chose to wear a skirt today, yellow in color, and it blocked his hand from touching her. He moved his hand up to her knee, wiggled under the fabric and made his way up the smooth skin of her thigh until his hand met her hip bone again. 

She moans his name again and it sends him into a frenzy. 

It really isn’t fair, what the sound of her breathy voice can do to him, as if he is oxygen itself and she can’t breathe without him. 

He hooks his thumb under her underwear and starts pulling it down. 

“Fakir.”

He pulls the damned clothing off faster, throwing it to the floor. “Sit up.” He commands, not leaving room for argument, and when she does, she presses her chest against his and he knows she does this on purpose. 

He reaches back for the zipper of her skirt and her hands have busied themselves with his buckle. 

Soon the skirt is gone, thrown to the side and he stands to take down his pants. 

She sits up on her bed, pulling her legs in and hiding her chest, her face grows red, as if she’s remembered shame. 

“What is it?” He asks, his hand cupping her cheek, he’s just as naked as she is now, and maybe he should remember shame like she has. 

“I- I got carried away.” She says. “I forgot…” She blushes and hid herself behind her legs, drawing them closer to her chest. 

“Forgot what?” 

“That I’m not…” She can’t even bring herself to say it but he can imagine what she means. 

She’s a skinny little thing, with no curves to speak of, her legs, her hips, her chest were not the desired look women sought after. 

But he didn’t care, and he can’t find a reason why he should. 

“If I only cared about how you looked, I’d be as shallow as a puddle on a hot day. And a fool. God, I’d be such a fool.” He placed his hand on the center of her chest and he can feel her heart beating wildly, he presses a kiss to her forehead, where he knows her scar to be. “I care about you, about who you are, the fact that you look like a princess is only an added bonus.” 

“A princess?” She whispers, as if she doesn’t believe it herself. 

“A princess.” He affirms, stealing her lips in perhaps the most gentle kiss he had ever given her, and she leans back, taking him with her. 

Her hands tangle into his hair, trailing down his back and it doesn’t take long for her to get back her bravery, poking her tongue out at his lip and he smiles as he lets her inside. 

He trails his hand down every inch of her body that he thinks would possibly cause her insecurities. 

Squeezing her breasts, running circles over her hips, and gripping her thigh, lifting it higher until it’s wrapper around him again, she wraps the other around him, and now he’s dangerously close, the shaft of his manhood rubs against her folds, and she’s soaking wet, and so warm. 

“Fakir.” She whispers, her voice regaining that breathless quality. “Please.” 

He stares into her eyes, and when he’s sure she’s asking for what he thinks she is, he pulls his hips back and aims himself before sheathing himself inside of her. 

For him, it’s blinding pleasure, but for her, it isn’t. 

He curses himself for not preparing her more, but he watches as her painful expression fades. 

She grabs his hand and presses a kiss into his palm, nodding at him to go. 

He’s slow at first, he doesn’t want to hurt her, but he watches as her eyes flutter closed and her lips tremble. 

“Fakir.” She says, and he spins out of control. 

He bucks his hips into hers and when she lets out a particularly loud moan, he can’t stop himself. 

Her hips start to meet his, rising and falling with each thrust, she throws her head back showing him her reddened neck, and grasps the sheets that are beneath her. 

Harder and harder, he can hear the bed beneath them shake, her thighs wrapped around his waist again, and he goes deeper causing them both to moan. 

He watches her face, lost in euphoria, watches as her breasts bounce with each rapid thrust, watches as her body arches into his. 

It’s more than enough to send him over the edge, and he grabs her hip in a bruising grip as he comes. 

But he can’t stop, he can’t stop until she tastes it too. 

He keeps going, leans down and takes her breast into his mouth, sucking at the nipple and sucking a throaty scream from her. He can feel it, as his hips collide with hers, and her pert nipple in his mouth, her walls tightened and he can tell that she just about bursts, yelling out his name one last time before coming back down. 

He pulls out of her as she collapses, her arms and legs limp, and he thinks her sweaty, exhausted face is the prettiest thing he’ll ever get to see. 

She clings to him then, hiding her face in his chest, and he encases her in his arms, protecting her from whatever she’s running away from this time. 

She kisses his chest again, soft skin then rough skin, all that her lips can reach. 

“Happy birthday.” He says. 

“Oh.” She responds, almost disappointed. “Are we only going to do this on my birthday?” 

He smirks. She’s never had a proper birthday, of course that’s what she thinks, what she says. “No, we can do that whenever you want to.” 

“Mm.” She hums into his chest. “Can we do this tomorrow night?” 

He chuckles. “Yes.”

“What about tomorrow morning? Or is this a night time thing only?” 

He bites his lip. “Whenever. You. Want.”

“Ah, okay.” She snuggles into him. “You really think I look like a princess?” 

He nods, he starts running his fingers through her hair. “I do.” 

She pokes his side and he looks down at her. “The farm is mine now, right?” 

“It is.” He says. 

“Do I have to do anything?” 

Fakir shakes his head. “No, you don’t have to do anything different.”

“Okay.” She settles back into his chest. “Because I don’t think I’d want to do any of the work Miss. Edel does. I think I’d run the farm into the ground.” 

“Just keeping spinning yarn.” He says. 

“Fakir?” 

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?” 

He pulls back and furrows his eyebrows at her. “What?” 

“Well, it’s just that I love you, and you promised that you would stay by my side, and now we’ve had sex, and it just seems like the right thing to do.”

“No, it isn’t.” He pulls her back to his chest. Just a little angry. 

“What? Why not?”

“Idiot, because I’m supposed to ask.”

“Oh! Ask me then.” 

He smirks and lets out a laugh, ruffling her hair. “Let me get a ring first.” 

“Then you’ll ask?”

“Then I’ll ask.” 

“Okay.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but Fakir knows it won’t last for very long. 

“Can you go now?”

He smirks, and starts attacking her sides until she’s in a fit of giggles. 

He kisses her again. “I’ll get a ring tomorrow. What kind do you want?”

“What kind? There are different kinds?”

“How do you know how to kiss me but not that there are different ring types?”

Ahiru shrugs. “Drosselemeyer never censored my reading, but most of the stories I read never mentions anything outside of ‘he gets down on one knee and proposes with a ring’.”

“If you know that much, why did you ask?” 

“Well, you didn’t ask!”

He smiles again, “How did you know I wasn’t going to tomorrow?”

“Well- were you?”

He shrugs. “We’ll find out.” He closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.

“Fakir? Fakir! Were you going to ask?” 

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

She huffs and falls down to the mattress, pressing her face against his chest again. 

“Fakir?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” 

“Will you marry me?” 


End file.
